Running With Scissors
by yumi michiyo
Summary: She doesn't want him. He isn't sure whether he wants her now. And then things got a little more complicated. Hans/Kristoff, some Kristoff/Anna (or lack thereof). Oneshot. Rated for explicit and implied sexual content.


**Author's Note:** Written for **calenheniel** from the prompt she gave me: "she doesn't want him." Somehow it has become this dark, twisted, and "romantic" story (which is actually quite the common theme in my writing).

Also, by some happy coincidence, it also happens to be Hansoff Week over on Tumblr. So I suppose this can be my contribution to the boys' love festival *flings confetti aggressively*.

* * *

She doesn't want him.

It's funny how that happens – considering how often he's in the castle and she's in the mountains after the Great Thaw – but it's in the past now. Now, she's in the castle and out of the castle and in the mountains, and he's not much better, but rarely are they in the same place at the same time.

It started slow. It's still slow now, but the cracks are irreparable by the time he sees. It's a danger sign in ice, one he's well-accustomed to, but this isn't the frozen lakes; he doesn't know what to do. He was in love – they were in love – but then as time passed and she recovered from making and breaking an engagement, and getting back her sister all within the span of a few days, she drifted away from him.

He's okay with their diminishing time together – or at least, that's what Kristoff tells Sven, and he receives the most disapproving look a reindeer can give.

* * *

He isn't sure whether he wants her now.

Certainly, he loves spending what little time he has now with her, and she's the first (and only) girl he's kissed, but things _have_ changed between them whether he likes it or not, and he doesn't have the benefit of past experience to know what to do next.

Elsa looks between them with a worried expression – trust her to be overly attuned to the ice – but she's busy with ruling the kingdom and reconnecting with her sister.

She doesn't know where to begin either.

* * *

He isn't a prince and it shows. Sometimes he runs scared from social situations, he's self-conscious about the "weirdness" of his feet, and he prefers to relieve himself in the garden.

Anna's gone from finding it amusing, to being slightly irritated, and finally simply not caring. She thrives on social interaction, and she often finds it where Kristoff isn't. Her attention drifts to people; interesting people, charming people, people of her social station. Better people.

He still thinks reindeer are better than people.

But this right now isn't just people, but a certain person. Anna's small hand grips his, and he recognizes vaguely familiar auburn hair.

"_Hans_," she says, her voice brittle. Kristoff automatically slips an arm around her waist. "What are you doing _here_?"

He sweeps her a bow; the polished smile has yet to leave his face. "I wouldn't miss your 21st birthday celebration for the world, Princess Anna." Hans' eyes flick to Kristoff, taking in the suit. "Might I presume there is another happy occasion to offer my congratulations on?"

"No," answers Kristoff bluntly. Anna's face is red; she looks as if she might hit Hans, storm out of the room, or both, in that order. Her grip on Kristoff's hand is almost painful.

It's funny, he thinks, that this is the closest she's been with him physically, in nearly a year.

Hans nods. "I see. Well then, I wouldn't want to occupy too much of your time. Your Highnesses..." With a bow and a flourish, he's gone, and Anna scowls.

"I need to find Elsa."

"Yeah, okay."

"I won't be long," she tells him, but her attention is already elsewhere, darting around the ballroom. He squeezes her hand and lets go.

She hasn't been gone a few minutes when he feels a discreet tap on his elbow.

"Anna seems rather upset to see me," says Hans, "so perhaps this might be better."

Kristoff frowns. If he was a dog, his hackles would be up. "I have nothing to say to you."

He inclines his head. "Indeed, we never had a chance to speak."

"With good reason."

"I assure you I have no hidden agenda this time around," he says, arching an elegant eyebrow.

Kristoff folds his arms across his chest; it's a bad habit Anna, Elsa, and the etiquette tutor has tried to break countless times. The seams of his jacket complain but he doesn't care. "I don't believe you."

Hans forces a laugh. "Refreshingly blunt. A nice change from the veiled insults one normally hears in our circles."

"If you have something to say, just get straight to the point. I don't really have the time for this, and Anna should be back soon."

"No, nothing." The shorter man sips his champagne. "It's nice to see Anna happy with someone who genuinely cares for her."

Kristoff's head is hurting. He has the niggling feeling there's a lot being said aside from the words, but he's never had much patience for these kinds of games. "I feel like I should thank you for that."

"I accept the sentiment – Kristoff, was it? Yes. Or Prince Kristoff."

"Baron Kristoff, actually. Anna and I aren't officially engaged yet."

"Pacing herself, is she?"

He's torn between amusement and a mounting anger; much to his horror, his conflict manifests as a growing heat in his face.

"I don't – it's different," he stammers, looking away, and he feels more awkward and clumsy than ever before.

Mercifully, Hans nods. "Of course. I don't doubt you have real affection for her, and she for you. You don't need marriage to prove that." He raises his glass, and drinks.

He wants so badly to agree, but he thinks of the long silences and longer absences, and the words catch in his throat.

He's spared when Anna pushes her way back to his side, Elsa in tow. "Your Majesty," says Hans, dropping to one knee.

"What are you doing here?" asks Elsa, and noticeable only to Anna and Kristoff, frost gathers at her fingertips.

"Attending Princess Anna's 21st birthday celebrations," he says blandly.

"You were warned never to return."

"But surely you have been receiving my brother's letters?"

All eyes are on Elsa; grudgingly, she nods. "I have received notes from King Magnus, yes."

"I have been deemed sufficiently punished for my crimes, and have been pardoned and reinstated."

"Not enough, you haven't – "

"_Anna_." Elsa takes a step forward. "Nevertheless, King Magnus never mentioned you would be attending. You may have atoned for your crimes under your kingdom's laws, but you are not welcomed in Arendelle."

"My brother doesn't always have the time to write letters of permission for his younger brothers."

Kristoff's eyes dart between the royals. He feels like he's missing out on a lot of things, and it irks him.

The queen's eyes are flinty as she considers him. "Anna," she says finally, "it's your birthday celebrations. Do you want him here?"

"Of course not!" she exclaims hotly. "You should leave. Now. Like, right _now_."

"As you wish, Princess." Hans sweeps her a deep bow. Anna watches him go, her eyes dark with hatred and something deeper that makes Kristoff look away.

* * *

Later that night, Kristoff can't take his mind off the banal conversation, and the considerably more meaningful events after.

He thinks a walk might clear his mind. He lets his feet take him to a comforting place on the roof, a place that Anna's shared with him in happier times. A blush creeps up his neck when he recalls that's not all they shared there.

But it isn't empty, and the person there is the last person he wants to see.

"You," he says.

"Me," says Hans. He's taken off the starched jacket and cravat, dressed down in shirtsleeves and his trousers.

"How'd you – "

"You're not the only man Anna's brought here," he says, and it's too dark to make out his expression.

"I wasn't going to ask that," growls Kristoff, annoyed at his own hesitation and embarrassed by the implication. "I was going to ask how did you get here – like, here in the castle."

"Do you know you're starting to sound like her? But to answer your question, I climbed." Hans jerks a thumb down at the ivy that decorates the walls. "The hidden trellises were put in by the architect, in case the monarch ever needed to flee the castle."

Words that might have been a reply jumble hopelessly on his tongue, but above all Kristoff feels at a distinct disadvantage compared to this smooth-talking prince, and he understands how Anna must have felt back then.

Hans pats the tiles. "You should sit. The winds can be quite sudden, and you might lose your balance."

Dumbly, he complies. "Why?" he finally manages to ask coherently, belatedly realising he isn't sure what he's asking.

"My ship leaves tomorrow morning," says Hans. "I was just visiting some familiar places."

"She brought me here to erase those memories with you," he blurts out, and flushes crimson.

Hans nods. "Understandable."

Kristoff decides he's better off not talking.

"Did she take you sliding in the corridors? The lighthouse? The waterfall?"

"That's none of your business."

Hans seems to understand that he's pried too far. "You're right. My apologies."

A silence, thick as the ice he cuts, falls around them. He's completely ill-at-ease, but for some strange reason, Kristoff feels compelled to stay. He frowns; he's such a glutton for punishment, right from the day he couldn't say no to a girl who wrecked his sled and everything on it –

"I honestly regret what I did, you know."

Kristoff glances up, taken by surprise. "You don't need to justify anything to me."

"I know, but somehow, I feel better just saying it." Hans smiles slightly. "They won't accept my apology."

"No one would," he finds himself saying, and he winces as a shadow passes over Hans' face.

"No, you're right," says Hans eventually – before Kristoff can stammer out a hasty apology – and be astonished at himself for doing so – oblivious to the conflict that's playing out in the other man. "I've been playing this game too long."

"So why me?"

He smiles. "You're possibly the only person in Arendelle who doesn't hate me."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"You're an open book. Your thoughts are written all over your face." He pushes up his straggling left sleeve. "Anna was like that when we first met. Open, guileless, utterly charming." Hans pauses, and then continues, "You shouldn't slouch so much. Not many men are as tall and strapping as you, you ought to be proud of it."

Kristoff pinks at that last statement. He returns to the subject of Anna, even if isn't sure if he's been paid a compliment. "And so you took advantage of her."

"The situation," he corrects.

"It works both ways."

"There is a fine line between, but essentially, I suppose that's true."

He senses something different in the lines of Hans' body, and he wonders if it's right for him to pursue this; he dared not ask Anna or Elsa how deep Hans' treachery ran, and what transpired between him and them apart from the very basics. He acquiesced to Anna's wishes to make new memories, and agreed to care for her as per Elsa's wishes, but he feels like a blindfolded man groping for something, anything, without realising the blindfold's around his eyes.

He's almost forgotten why he said _yes, yes, yes_ to her in the first place.

"Why?"

Hans turns his head slightly, and appears to catch the seriousness in Kristoff's eyes. His own expression – half-hidden in shadow – becomes harder.

"I wanted to be somebody," he says simply.

"That's because you have never been truly nobody," responds Kristoff.

"Yes. I am a nobody who thought I could be somebody."

"And now?"

"I don't know."

Hans looks lost, which is why he stiffens when Kristoff initiates the kiss. It surprises him too; nearly three years of being with Anna, and she's always been the bold one. She kisses him. She touches him. She lets him take her.

But he isn't Anna, he's Hans the traitor and would-be murderer, and Kristoff doesn't need to treat him gently.

Hans' mouth is as soft as it looks, which is exactly as he's been expecting from a prince born and bred. Kristoff kisses him harder, demands his submission, asserts his rights; Hans gives way.

He's soft, but he won't break.

Kristoff's hands roam over Hans' chest, gripping his shirt. He's rough and inexperienced, but the equally rough way Hans kisses back encourages him to keep going.

When they break apart, gasping for air, Kristoff wonders if he's gone too far.

Hans is almost as red as his hair. "Maybe we should go elsewhere," he suggests, and it's an invitation and an order all at once.

Kristoff is nobility now, but he hastens to comply in turn.

* * *

They make it to an unused room in the west wing ("They won't hear a thing," mutters Kristoff in between kisses) and manage to lock the door.

Kristoff is taller and broader, and he makes use of his bulk to pin Hans down. Clothes are shed, and he presses sloppy kisses to firm flesh and scarred skin, tracing muscle with his tongue. Hans' pants are loose, but they don't hide the telltale bulge of his groin. He's big, surprisingly big for his slender build, and the sight of him fills the blonde man with fire.

He isn't gentle. He doesn't need to be gentle.

His teeth press hard like he would never let himself do to Anna, and Hans' body arches with a groan. He feels powerful.

"Kneel," he says hoarsely, and Hans complies.

He doesn't need to ask. He groans as trembling hands tug away his pants, and a hot mouth takes him to the hilt. Kristoff is frustrated enough (and it feels so much like Anna) to come quickly, spilling his sour, over-large load everywhere. Hans doesn't say anything, his pink tongue darting out to catch a taste.

He seizes Hans and pushes him against the bed. He knows without asking what he has to do; Hans bends over, places his hands on the mattress. His pants are still around his ankles, and it's a laughable sight what this elegant prince from a few hours earlier has become, but Kristoff doesn't care.

The first thrust has Hans reeling, sucking breath like a drowning man, guttural groans that are nothing like her breathy gasps. He's hot and tight. Kristoff thrusts again, and again.

He won't break him, and even if he did, no one would miss him.

Only when he's taken his pleasure, as roughly as he pulls ice from the lakes, does he attend to Hans' needs.

* * *

"She doesn't want me," he confesses into Hans' bruised shoulder when the animalistic heat's left him. "She never really wanted me."

"I think I might've broken her," says Hans. Sexual satiation has added a softness to his features, to his caresses. "Who wouldn't want a poor fool like you?"

* * *

When Kristoff opens his eyes, he's surprised to find himself in an unfamiliar bedroom with the sun just peeking over the horizon, and again when he notices the auburn hair beside him, the light turning the strands fiery.

"Anna?"

Hans stirs in his sleep, his expression uncomplicated. He's a better sleeper than Anna, and Kristoff bites his lip, fighting the urge to take him again. Instead, he rises and gathers their discarded clothes. Automatically he beats the dust from them and folds Hans' shirt and trousers, leaving them in a neat heap at the foot of the bed.

He wants to wake Hans, tell him he'll miss his ship, and see him off with a smile and a glad heart knowing that their secret is safe.

But he doesn't.

* * *

It's gotten such that Anna can go days without noticing Kristoff isn't there, but it doesn't bother him so much this morning; in fact, he's glad she doesn't ask where he disappeared to last night.

"His ship's left," observes Elsa over breakfast. Kristoff stiffens.

"Good riddance," says Anna with just a touch of vindictiveness, drizzling honey over her bread. Elsa's preoccupied with telling her not to use so much because _that much sugar can't be good for you and anyway you eat far too much_, and no one notices if the burly ice harvester is lost in his own thoughts.

* * *

"You didn't wake me," Hans says reproachfully as Kristoff hustles him out of the castle. "Don't you want me gone?"

"I woke up late and lost track of the time," he lies, ignoring the other man's mocking tone. They get into the sled – Hans under the blankets in the back, Kristoff up front driving Sven. He's allowed to come out after they leave the town boundaries.

"So where are you taking me now?"

"I have a place in the mountains." He remembers the first time he said those words to Anna, and how awkward the experience was; he's gotten smoother with practice, but yet the implications make him blush.

"No."

"What?"

"No. This isn't what this is." The words are gentle, but Hans' face is twisted into a cruel expression; half-pitying, half-mocking. "We're not _anything_ – surely even you could see that?"

Kristoff draws Sven up, but he hardly registers the motion. "I don't understand."

"You and Anna are the same. Honest, simple, foolish." Hans places a hand on Kristoff's lap, and he shudders, thinking of last night. "This isn't real, none of it is."

"But I have nothing to offer you."

Hans' smile turns wistful. "No. Isn't that the saddest part?"

* * *

He lets Kristoff take him to the harbour, and they find a merchant ship that will grant him passage back to the Southern Isles – or so Hans says. They both know he's not going home.

For Kristoff, there's a more pressing concern. "Will you come back?" he asks stupidly, face hot, very aware of the pleading note in his voice.

"No. There's nothing here for me anymore."

"Then why, in the first place?"

He smiles then. "Closure." His green-gold eyes flick to Kristoff's. "And something unexpected."

"I might go there." Kristoff clears his throat meaningfully. "The Southern Isles. Maybe."

"Then _maybe_ I'll see you there."

He's already made a fool of himself several times over, so he reasons one more time can't hurt. "I love you."

"No, you don't, but I appreciate the sentiment." He steps forward, brushes back a lock of blonde hair from Kristoff's face in a surprisingly tender and public gesture. "Some lies are nicer than most."

Kristoff doesn't kiss him. Hans doesn't ask.

"It's not a lie," says the ice harvester-turned-noble, to the prince-turned-exile.

He doesn't respond.


End file.
